


Sparks

by anathemafen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abuse, Mage-Templar War, Mages (Dragon Age), Minor Violence, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 10:50:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemafen/pseuds/anathemafen
Summary: A small drabble to get back into writing - from the perspective of a mage during the Mage-Templar war.





	Sparks

You were three when it manifested. 

Sparks that startled more than scorched, bright lights that remained even when you closed your eyelids – bursts of white dancing against the dark. 

Your small mouth in an open ‘o’ and wide eyed as you gazed down at chubby fingers that still sizzled with an energy foreign and yet so familiar. 

And then tear-stained cheeks as you reached for your momma, her own expression filled with something you’d later recognize as shame. 

You were five when they took you away. 

Surrounded by towering suits of metal, blazing swords embossed on their chests, symbols of justice that would become symbols of fear. More confused than anything when one of them spoke – these massive entities without faces that you had thought were protectors of the people. _Welcome home_ , they said, the last rays of sunshine leaving your back, warmth that you wouldn’t feel again for years to come. 

You were ten when they Silenced you for the first time. 

A punch to the gut and a swift knock to the head and you lay gasping on the cold stone floor as the others stared. Their gazes empty and pitying, downcast whenever a helmet clanked their way, mouths pressed into thin lines – and you understood why they called it a Silence. 

You were eighteen when you passed your Harrowing. 

Unprepared and trembling, they sent you spiraling down into the Fade, demons grinning at the prospect of another young mage, vulnerable and desperate. Waking confused because demons knew what _no_ meant. Waking angry because Templars did not. 

You were twenty-two when you first killed a man. 

Those sparks from so long ago transforming into flames of fury, startling _and_ scorching, screams coming from within the impenetrable wall that was a Templar’s armour. 

You were twenty-two when you felt the sun again. 

Rays that were warm in more ways than one, your heart beating as you tasted freedom and fresh air. 

You were twenty-two when you died. 

Lying on soiled grass with a gash to your gut and a ringing in your ears. Staring up at the sky that they had denied you for so long. Rousing your last reserves of energy, fingers once chubby and pink now paled and bony, but the sparks were the same.

Startling but not scorching. 

Bright lights that remained even when you closed your eyelids.

Bursts of white dancing against the dark.


End file.
